Late Lyrics and Earlier, With Many Other Verses Part 19

March 1913.

THE COUNTRY WEDDING (A FIDDLER'S STORY)

Little fogs were gathered in every hollow, But the purple hillocks enjoyed fine weather As we marched with our fiddles over the heather - How it comes back!--to their wedding that day.

Our getting there brought our neighbours and all, O!

Till, two and two, the couples stood ready.

And her father said: "Souls, for G.o.d's sake, be steady!"

And we strung up our fiddles, and sounded out "A."

The groomsman he stared, and said, "You must follow!"

But we'd gone to fiddle in front of the party, (Our feelings as friends being true and hearty) And fiddle in front we did--all the way.

Yes, from their door by Mill-tail-Shallow, And up Styles-Lane, and by Front-Street houses, Where stood maids, bachelors, and spouses, Who cheered the songs that we knew how to play.

I bowed the treble before her father, Michael the tenor in front of the lady, The ba.s.s-viol Reub--and right well played he! - The serpent Jim; ay, to church and back.

I thought the bridegroom was flurried rather, As we kept up the tune outside the chancel, While they were swearing things none can cancel Inside the walls to our drumstick's whack.

"Too gay!" she pleaded. "Clouds may gather, And sorrow come." But she gave in, laughing, And by supper-time when we'd got to the quaffing Her fears were forgot, and her smiles weren't slack.

A grand wedding 'twas! And what would follow We never thought. Or that we should have buried her On the same day with the man that married her, A day like the first, half hazy, half clear.

Yes: little fogs were in every hollow, Though the purple hillocks enjoyed fine weather, When we went to play 'em to church together, And carried 'em there in an after year.

FIRST OR LAST (SONG)

If grief come early Joy comes late, If joy come early Grief will wait; Aye, my dear and tender!

Wise ones joy them early While the cheeks are red, Banish grief till surly Time has dulled their dread.

And joy being ours Ere youth has flown, The later hours May find us gone; Aye, my dear and tender!

LONELY DAYS

Lonely her fate was, Environed from sight In the house where the gate was Past finding at night.

None there to share it, No one to tell: Long she'd to bear it, And bore it well.

Elsewhere just so she Spent many a day; Wis.h.i.+ng to go she Continued to stay.

And people without Basked warm in the air, But none sought her out, Or knew she was there.

Even birthdays were pa.s.sed so, Sunny and shady: Years did it last so For this sad lady.

Never declaring it, No one to tell, Still she kept bearing it - Bore it well.

The days grew chillier, And then she went To a city, familiar In years forespent, When she walked gaily Far to and fro, But now, moving frailly, Could nowhere go.

The cheerful colour Of houses she'd known Had died to a duller And dingier tone.

Streets were now noisy Where once had rolled A few quiet coaches, Or citizens strolled.

Through the party-wall Of the memoried spot They danced at a ball Who recalled her not.

Tramlines lay crossing Once gravelled slopes, Metal rods clanked, And electric ropes.

So she endured it all, Thin, thinner wrought, Until time cured it all, And she knew nought.

Versified from a Diary.

Versified from a Diary.

"WHAT DID IT MEAN?"

What did it mean that noontide, when You bade me pluck the flower Within the other woman's bower, Whom I knew nought of then?

I thought the flower blushed deeplier--aye, And as I drew its stalk to me It seemed to breathe: "I am, I see, Made use of in a human play."

And while I plucked, upstarted sheer As phantom from the pane thereby A corpse-like countenance, with eye That iced me by its baleful peer - Silent, as from a bier . . .

When I came back your face had changed, It was no face for me; O did it speak of hearts estranged, And deadly rivalry

In times before I darked your door, To seise me of Mere second love, Which still the haunting first deranged?

AT THE DINNER-TABLE

I sat at dinner in my prime, And glimpsed my face in the sideboard-gla.s.s, And started as if I had seen a crime, And prayed the ghastly show might pa.s.s.

Wrenched wrinkled features met my sight, Grinning back to me as my own; I well-nigh fainted with affright At finding me a haggard crone.

My husband laughed. He had slily set A warping mirror there, in whim To startle me. My eyes grew wet; I spoke not all the eve to him.

He was sorry, he said, for what he had done, And took away the distorting gla.s.s, Uncovering the accustomed one; And so it ended? No, alas,

Fifty years later, when he died, I sat me in the selfsame chair, Thinking of him. Till, weary-eyed, I saw the sideboard facing there;

And from its mirror looked the lean Thing I'd become, each wrinkle and score The image of me that I had seen In jest there fifty years before.